Carved from Darkness

A Seagull's Call

SYNOPSIS: A girl of crushed dreams discovers that other people's lives are just as valuable as her own . . . through the eyes of an ocean demon's stepson.

This is my entry for talesofthedeep's Sea Creature's Treasure contest. (And it got first place!!)

Word count: 3676

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The intoxicating scent of burnt vanilla cake wafted lazily through the air as the oven let out a soft, tinny ding. Ma slipped an oven mitt over my left hand, smoothing her fingers over the quilted fabric absentmindedly. "Now, be careful. Don't burn yourself."

"I won't, Ma," I promised, yanking down the oven door. A burst of heat blew onto my face, and I winced, narrowing my eyes. "God, you didn't warn me that the depths of the underworld would explode in my face."

Ma chuckled heartily, placing batter-splattered glass bowls into the kitchen sink. "Always expect the unexpected, Michelle."

"I already do." I pulled the cake pan from its site of hostage, lifting it to the counter and dropping it onto a cooling rack nearby. The metals clattered, startling Ma. She let go of the spatula that she was in the midst of cleaning, watching it hit the floor and paint her socks with cream.

"Michelle," she said with a sigh, "one more mistake, and you're going outside. Okay?"

I attempted to flip the pan over to let it cool, slowly letting the edge fall against the rack again. "Fine."

After I slipped the mitt off of my hand, I placed it to the right of the cooling rack, realizing at the last second that the gas stove was blazing, a pot of water boiling atop its flames. The thumb of the glove caught fire, the flame's tips just barely licking the air.

Ma let out a surprised yelp, and I ran back as she rushed forward and threw the mitt to the ground. When she finished stomping on the fabric, she looked up to me with an exasperated laugh. "Out. Get out."

I nodded. Without question, I exited out of the back door, the one that led to the ocean. However, right as I stepped out into the wilderness, I ran into an abandoned spider web, its silk strands glistening with drops of morning dew. My hand flew to my face as I tried to brush away the sticky mess.

"Finally looked in the mirror, Wentworth?" a boy shouted from afar. I looked up from my struggles to see my next-door neighbor, Callum, scowling at me from the sandy beach a few hundred feet away.

"Shut up, Callum!" I yelled back, pulling the collar of my shirt over my nose.

He stuck his tongue out at me, running his fingers through his dirty blond hair until strands of it hung lazily over his forehead. His lanky, thin frame allowed him to reach me in a matter of minimal seconds. "What did you say?" he asked, mildly out of breath.

"I told you to shut up." I crossed my arms over my chest.

He stood mere inches from me, voice low. "You're just asking to get punched in the face, aren't you?"

"Maybe I am," I said softly, holding his gaze for a few moments before shoving him in the stomach. He stumbled, holding onto the railing before he could fall off of the stairs to the porch. At the hollow thump of his shoes on the wood, I grinned with satisfaction.

A scowl narrowed his eyes and darkened his expression. "Hasn't your mum taught you proper etiquette, Michelle?"

The static, constant slosh of waves filled the silence, though it mingled with the rage burning at the tips of my ears and the depths of my heart. "My mum taught me self-defense."